The Way He Should Be Loved
by Demian33
Summary: Picks up right where "Secret Santa" leaves off. So much of the show focuses on Kate's trust issues, so this story explores Castle's trust issues, using the lie she told about the Christmas Eve shift as a launching point. This story really delves into the topic and can be angsty at times, but always with a happy ending. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Buckle your seat belts because this is definitely a roller coaster. It gets pretty angsty because I wanted to fully delve into the topic of Castle's trust issues concerning Kate. There are lots of surprises along the way and it can be a bumpy ride at times. But if you stick with it, you will be pleased at how it ends, I promise! And don't worry, I will update once, sometimes twice a day, so you won't be left hanging for too long. Will be wrapped up by Monday's show. And reviews are always helpful. Thanks!

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

"So, what made you change your mind?" he asked her, his eyes lingering on their intertwined fingers.

The leftovers were put away, the dishes washed; Martha and Alexis had retired to their rooms, and they sat on the couch together, surrounded by twinkling lights. The night had gone well—they had had fun, dinner had been excellent—but neither of them felt particularly festive, both still affected by the events of the day.

"I told you. I thought maybe I could use a new tradition," she answered.

"But what made you actually change your mind?"

She sighed and leaned into him. "I don't know exactly. I was there, sitting at my desk, and suddenly that feeling I get, that sense of duty I have about watching over the city—it just didn't feel like my job for once."

"So you just called up Karpowski and she was willing?"

"More than willing. Her parents were in town and her mother was giving her the third degree about not having a boyfriend. She was grateful I called."

"Well, that worked out nicely …" he said, trailing off.

"Is something wrong, Castle?" she asked, knowing when he was beating around the bush.

"Want to see my train?" he asked, the enthusiasm obviously forced.

"Later. I want you to tell me what's wrong," she replied.

He sighed then and paused. "I don't want to ruin anything …"

She sat up then and moved away from him a little. He watched their fingers untwine. He didn't want to have this talk, but he also felt like he couldn't _not _have this talk. What had happened today—it was gnawing at him. He wasn't good at ignoring his feelings. He wasn't good at compartmentalizing his emotions. He wasn't her.

"Go on," she urged him.

"I'm just surprised you changed your mind, is all," he told her.

"Why?"

"It's just—" he stalled again.

"Just say it, Castle," she ordered, starting to get irritated despite her desire to be patient with him.

Her tone stung a bit, but it gave him the courage to be more direct. "You were just so sure."

"I don't have the right to change my mind?"

"No, of course you do. It's just that you went to a lot of trouble—asking Gates for the shift when it was already assigned to someone else, telling me you were assigned the shift when you actually volunteered, making me think it was because you couldn't tell Gates about us when it was actually about avoiding spending Christmas with me …"

"It wasn't about avoiding spending Christmas with you, Castle," she interrupted. "I told you, I have my own tradition, that it's important to me."

"But you changed your mind so quickly. I am just trying to understand."

"What exactly is there to understand?" she snapped.

"I just … it really hurt me, when you said you wouldn't be with me tonight. You know how important this is to me. I just don't understand why you went to such great lengths to lie to me today just to suddenly change your mind at the last minute."

Kate made a sound of frustration and then stood up. He immediately followed her as she walked toward his study. She turned back to face him once they were fully inside.

"What's the difference? I'm here now. Doesn't that count for something?" she whispered angrily.

"The difference is you lied to me, Kate. You LIED to me. Right to my face. And then you blamed it on Gates. Why didn't you just tell me?"

"You think it's easy for me to tell you this stuff … to be honest? Knowing I am going to disappoint you?"

"You make it look pretty easy," he huffed.

"Well, it's not. It hurts. A lot."

"Really? You're going with the proverbial 'this hurts me more than you'—?"

"That's not what I meant. I meant it's hard to see that look of disappointment on your face."

"So, lying is better?" he needled.

She gave him one of her death stares then.

"No, not better," he said, answering his own question. "It's just easier."

"It's not easy!" she insisted. "I just told you. It hurts me to disappoint you, Rick. Why can't you believe that?"

"What do you think I would be more disappointed about? A girlfriend who feels a special duty to watch over the families of New York on Christmas Eve and has a hard time celebrating over the holidays because of a horrible tragedy or a girlfriend who flat out lies to me and says the reason why we can't be together on Christmas Eve is because Gates doesn't know about us. You tricked me, Kate."

"Fine, I get your point. I'm sorry for lying."

Castle shook his head and turned away from her, sitting down on the edge of his desk. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed.

"There's more, isn't there?" she acknowledged.

"Yes, there's more. This isn't the first time you have lied to me. It's not the first time your walls have come between us …"

"You know how hard I have been working on that," she reminded him, wounded.

"I know, but it's … it's this time of year. I finally get to celebrate my favorite holiday with you, as a couple, a real couple, and it all starts out with a lie …" He stopped when he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Rick, I'm sorry," she apologized.

He shrugged her hand off and stood up, walking away from her until he was facing the bookshelf by his bedroom door.

"Where is this going, Kate? You lie to me because you are too scared to spend the holiday with me. You lied to me about not remembering when I told you I loved you. You lie all the time—whenever there's something you don't want to face, you lie to me."

"Castle, that's not exactly fair," she started.

"I've been so understanding about your boundaries, accommodating you even when it was the complete opposite of what I needed. But lying to me about spending Christmas together …"

"I'm sorry, Rick, and I'm here now. Please forgive me," she entreated.

"I can't even get you a Christmas present, Kate. On our first Christmas together! I know you have issues and I know you are working on them, but I have needs in this relationship, too. It's all on your terms—" He paused then, sighing, said, "It always has been."

He turned and looked at her then, startled by her expression, which was a mix of understanding and contriteness. She was sitting on the edge of the desk now, her hand over her heart, her whole body frozen. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. He had half expected her to yell at him and storm out; her stillness was disconcerting.

"And still, after all this time," he swallowed hard, his eyes trained on her intensely. "You still haven't told me you love me. I tell myself you do, that you wouldn't be with me if you didn't, that I don't need the words … I tell myself a lot of things.

"But the truth is—I do need the words. I want to know. Because if you don't even love me, then all of the lying and the other stuff … how can it be worth it? I love you with all of my heart, Kate, and I have waited so long to be with you, but at some point you have to meet me halfway."

She held his gaze for a moment, long enough for him to see the tears well up in her eyes, but then she looked away and wiped them off quickly with the sleeve of her shirt.

This was hard for him—to say this stuff to her, to push at her boundaries, to ask for what he needed. That was one of the hardest things he had ever done—asking the question that could either break down the walls and propel them into a hopeful future or bring this dream to a bitter, painful end. He knew he was pushing it, but he was convinced it was time.

He watched her grapple with her thoughts before she finally spoke.

"I knew I wasn't ready for this," she said softly, sniffling.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying not to completely freak out.

"I knew I wasn't ready for a relationship with you … with anyone."

"Then why did you come over that night?" he blurted out.

"Because … of the way I was feeling that night, the way I feel about you now. I wanted to be ready, but I'm not. You're right to be angry with me. I have been selfish—I have lied to you. And I can't … give you what you need."

He was gripping the bookcase now, holding himself up. This was beyond terrible and he was suddenly very scared.

"Are you saying you don't love me?" he whispered.

She chose her words carefully. "I'm saying that you are a wonderful, giving, sweet man who deserves someone who can give him what he needs."

_Tell him you love him!_ her mind screamed at her. Because she did. Of that, she was positive. But once those words were out, then he would be in—for good. And she would keep hurting him and hurting him, over and over again, because right now, it felt like she would never be okay enough to love him the way she wanted to, the way he should be loved.

She looked at him again, wiping more tears from her eyes, watching him crumple as the silence grew longer and longer. God, she was a horrible person and if she didn't say something, she would destroy him—and she couldn't let that happen.

Three simple words—the three words she just couldn't bring herself to say. So, like the old Kate, the one she thought she had left behind, she went with the ones she could say, and had said, so many times before.

"I'm sorry, Castle."

"Kate!" he pleaded.

"I tried, Castle. I did. But I can't … I'm hurting you … all I do is hurt you."

"Kate … please …" he stuttered, barely able to breathe.

"I'm sorry!" she whispered before darting out of the room. By the time he could bring himself to move and go after her, she was at the door, her coat on, and her hand on the door.

He rushed up behind her and spun her around, bracing her against the door, like he did that night, that wonderful amazing night. She tried to move, but he was using his strength against her for once. She wanted to close her eyes and just disappear, but he would not be ignored. They stared at each other for what seemed like hours before he finally spoke.

"You don't love me?" he asked, his voice cracking like a boy's voice, which made her heart even heavier. This pain—it was all because of her. She had to be the strong one here. She had to stop this.

She leaned forward until her forehead was touching his, and then pressed her cheek against his. Her hands wound their way around his neck and found their way into his hair, making him whimper.

_Stop it, Kate. You are only making this worse._

And then her lips were on his, moving, searching … the kiss was so tender and sweet, she never wanted it to end. Being with him felt so good … and so painful.

When she pulled away after a few moments, he was so stunned he let go of her and took a step backward. His hair was adorably messed up and his lips were reddened by her lipstick. She had never loved him as much as she did in that moment.

Her hand slid behind her back and took hold of the doorknob. Still staring at him, she cracked the door open and stepped outside of the loft. She hesitated then, looking at him, practically watching his heart break before her very eyes.

It wasn't until he whispered her name and took a step toward her, his hand reaching for her, that she let the door close. Within seconds she was taking steps three at a time as she bounded her way down to the lobby, where she ran past a startled Eduardo, who didn't even have time to open the door before she busted through it.

She hit the sidewalk and broke into a full sprint, running through the streets like a mad woman, sobbing, regretting every step she took, bumping into happy and sad people, her vision blurred by Christmas lights through tears, until she reached a subway station, swiped her pass, and stumbled into the train that would take her back to her apartment—where she would be alone. Always alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, I know this is sad. The reviews I have been getting have said as much. It hurt to write it - at times I had to stop because it was so hard. I was even worried about publishing it because it gets pretty dark. But just know that I love these characters so much and the point is not to torture them, but to have them face a key issue in their relationship. This is all for a purpose.

There are so many issues they have left unexplored that will never be addressed on the show, so that's why I write this type of story. I like to delve into their minds and then really get them to talk to each other. They just kind of gloss over these sorts of issues on TV and if I were Castle, I would be really, _really_ tired of Kate lying to me all the time. He has to reach his breaking point and get tired of being so darn understanding. This is that point.

It's going to get worse before it gets better, just like it would outside of TV land, but try to stay with me. I promise it will pay off in the end.

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**CHAPTER TWO**

He stood there dumbly, eyes fixed on the closed door before him, for a long time, longer than any sane person would.

But he didn't know what to do. How could he move if he didn't know what to do next? As he stood there, trapped in a paralyzed body, his mind twisted and turned itself over and around, trying to think of what he should do next.

He had never felt like this before. Had the love of his life just admitted she didn't love him and walked out on him for good? Because that's what it felt like—and how do you move on from that?

How could she not love him? After all they had shared, as friends and partners, as lovers—how could she not feel the exact thing he was feeling inside? What he felt for her—overwhelming happiness and joy just being in her company, a bright and positive outlook for the future, thoughts of sharing a life with her, having her by his side, making her laugh. What he felt for her was epic—it was a dream, literally a dream come true. It was the kind of love that inspired poetry and song. He did not doubt for one second that they should be together.

So, how can he feel that way about her and she not? How was that even possible? Surely, such powerful love was not one-sided. What kind of cruel world would let someone love another person who didn't feel the same way?

And why would she finally come to him, just to walk away?

_Walk! Move! Now!_ _Do_ _something._

He turned and walked back into his study. Grabbing a bottle of Scotch, he got into bed and drank until he passed out.

* * *

The next morning was a blur. He tried to be happy and festive, to show delight when his mother and Alexis opened their gifts and when he opened his. He tried to remain upbeat as he made Christmas breakfast, with Alexis sitting at the counter eyeing him in that way when a daughter really knows her father.

"Dad, what's wrong?" she asked for probably the fourth time.

"Nothing," he insisted again.

"You can't fool me. I know you. What's wrong?" she countered.

"Nothing," he grumbled, pulling a steaming broccoli, bacon, and cheddar quiche out of the oven and placing it on the bar to cool.

"Fine. Then answer me this—where is Kate?"

He winced at the mention of her name, which Alexis picked up on immediately.

"She's at work," he said, turning away from Alexis and grabbing the coffee pot to pour himself another mug.

"That may be true, but something is still wrong," Alexis observed.

"Everything is fine," Castle said in a stilted voice.

But she was not persuaded.

"I heard you last night …" she said to him softly.

Castle froze with the coffee pot in his hand. "What did you hear?"

"Nothing specific, but I know it wasn't good …" She paused. "I know she left."

He sighed and put the pot back down on its cradle. He turned back toward her, though his head was still down.

"Dad, look at me," Alexis asked him.

Castle shook his head and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she saw his shoulders shake with a sob.

"Please, Dad. I'm not a child. You can talk to me," she told him gently.

"You'll just say 'I told you so,'" he replied sadly.

"I would _never_ say that, Dad. Yes, I have had my doubts about Kate, but I like her and I love how happy you have been. I know relationships aren't perfect. You can be honest with me. I'm not here to judge either one of you."

"You shouldn't have to hear about your Dad's love life, Alexis."

"I want to help and you need to talk to someone. Just trust me, Dad."

His arms braced against the counter, he finally looked up at her. She was shocked to see his face—the sadness and hopelessness. She thought he had looked funny earlier, but she thought he was hung over or had just stayed up late with Kate. She didn't realize …

"You were crying all night …" It wasn't a question.

"She lied to me yesterday. She told me she couldn't have dinner with us because Gates was making her work the Christmas Eve shift when she actually volunteered for it …"

"She lied to you about that? Why?"

"She has bad memories of Christmas—she hasn't really celebrated it since her mom died. Every year, she works the shift so everyone can be with their families."

"But we're her family now," Alexis replied, puzzled.

"I know, and she came around, obviously, but she lied to me and tricked me into believing she was being forced to work instead of just being honest that she was having a hard time letting go of her tradition."

"That's awful, Daddy. What made her come around and change her mind?"

He sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head before answering.

"That's what I wanted to know. And then it just turned into this whole thing and I was so _mad_ that she lied, that she wouldn't let me buy her a gift, that she wouldn't just _be_ with me on my favorite night of the year."

"I'd be mad, too, Dad. I think that's a normal response."

He nodded. "But then I pushed too far."

"How so?"

"Alexis," he exhaled heavily, "Kate has never told me that she loves me."

"What?" Alexis replied loudly, startling them both. "How is that even possible? It's obvious that she does."

"I thought so, too, but I needed the words, I needed _something_ after all that had happened yesterday."

Alexis was holding her breath when she asked what Kate had said.

"She said she was sorry. That she wasn't ready for this, that I deserved someone who could give me what I need."

"It doesn't make sense though. I've seen you two together. She loves you, as much as you love her. Why can't she just say it?"

"I don't know. Maybe she thinks it's too soon. Or that I'll push her for more if she tells me. Maybe she doesn't understand how much the words matter … or maybe she just … doesn't …" he finished sadly.

"You can't believe that, Dad. That's impossible!"

"Alexis, she just left. On Christmas Eve, with me practically begging her to stay—she just walked out the door and I haven't heard anything from her since," he replied.

"Maybe she just needs some time …" Alexis offered.

Castle shook his head. "That's the thing. She's had time. She's lied to me before—for a year she lied to me! She thinks she'll never be ready and I'm starting to wonder if she's right."

"You can't believe that, Dad. You two are amazing together. You have loved her for so long. It can't be over."

"I don't want to believe it, but what choice do I have? I have been so … _patient_ with her, for so long. I have done everything I can to make her feel safe and loved, to let her know that she can trust me. I have done everything she has asked of me and the one time I need something, she runs. It's just three words and if she feels them, then why can't she just say them?"

Alexis tried to think of an answer, but nothing came.

"Are you going to call her? Or go see her? It's Christmas, Dad. You can't be miserable on Christmas. She's probably feeling horrible about what happened."

"Would you call her if you were in my shoes?" he asked her.

She thought for a moment, debated what to say, and then finally gave her honest opinion.

"No, I wouldn't. I would wait for her to call me …"

"Even if she never calls again?" he asked, tears coming to his eyes again.

"Do you really think that's a possibility?"

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "The way she kissed me before she left. The way she sounded. What she said. It was so final. It feels … over," he whispered.

"Have some faith, Dad," she encouraged him.

"I keep hoping to wake up from this. It feels like a nightmare. But even so … I won't go to her. I always go to her. I always smooth things over. I want this more than anything, but it has to be real … and it has to be equal. If she really loves me, then she will come and tell me. I can't chase her down and make her say it … it obviously doesn't work," he said, wiping his eyes.

"Oh, Dad!" Alexis cried out. She ran around the bar and hugged him tightly, feeling the tears in her own eyes start to well up.

He hugged her back tightly—his little girl, so grown up, helping him through this difficult moment. He was proud of her.

After a few moments, he pulled away from her. "Go get Gram and set the table. It's time for Christmas breakfast."

Her pale blue eyes were shining with tears when she looked up at him and nodded. "If you need to talk more, Dad, I'm here."

He managed a smile and watched her walk out of the room.

* * *

Later that night he sat in his study, his third glass of Scotch in his hand and his phone in the other. He had been checking it every five minutes for hours now, praying that she would at least text him to say "Merry Christmas" or "Everything's going to be okay" or "I'm madly in love with you and I'll be right over."

He resisted the incredibly powerful urge to reach out to her, even though every bone in his body ached for her. He knew that if he was the one to contact her, then everything would start all over again and they'd most likely end up right back in the same place. Something needed to change.

He thought back over the past few months with her, looking for signs of her supposed uneasiness, anything that might indicate she still wasn't ready. But she was still seeing Dr. Burke and that seemed to be going well. There seemed to be no problem with intimacy or sex—she seemed more than a willing participant. Sure, they'd had their squabbles, but that was nothing new and he could have sworn they had worked through everything that had come up.

He glanced at the phone again and then, frustrated, threw it across the desk. It skidded and landed on the floor with a thunk. He let it be.

He polished off the rest of the Scotch in his glass and sank back into his chair.

What was he going to do now?

He heard a small knock at the door and managed a weak, "Come in."

"Hi, Dad," Alexis said, walking into the room.

"Hey, Lex," he replied softly, looking up to meet her eyes.

She plopped down into one of the leather chairs and stared at him.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Are you going to be okay, Dad?" Her tone was worried.

"Of course, sweetie," he answered, trying to smile.

"I'm going skiing with my French club, remember? We're supposed to leave in the morning, but I'm—"

"Go," he insisted. "I'll be fine."

"Gram is leaving, too. She's going to visit her friend Marion for the New Year."

"I know, honey. I'll be fine. I promise."

"Dad …" she said with that endearing little pouty face he loved so dearly.

"If anything, it's better. I'm a drag to be around and with you guys gone, I don't have to pretend to be happy …"

"That's terrible, Dad. You don't have to pretend. And you're not a drag to be around. You're hurting. There's a difference."

"I'm just saying that I'll be okay."

"What are you going to do? You'll go crazy if you just wait around for Beckett to call."

"I have lots of stuff to do. I need to write. The next Nikki Heat book needs an ending and I've been putting it off for months."

"Do you really think that's a good idea, Dad? Writing about Nikki and Rook when you and Kate are going through a rough patch?" She stared at him quizzically.

"Probably not, but what else can I do? I promised Gina a draft by the end of the year. Besides, it's only a couple more chapters at the most. I just need to wrap things up."

She crossed her arms and sighed.

"Are you sure you won't contact her, Dad?" Alexis asked, her voice quieter.

"Pumpkin, come here," he said, standing up and walking around the desk. She met him and gave him a fierce hug.

"I want to," he admitted, stroking her hair. "But I can't. There isn't anything more I can say to her that she doesn't already know."

"But you're sure you'll be okay?" she asked, raising her face to look up at him.

"I'll be fine. I promise. Now go pack and have a wonderful time on your trip."

"Casey is picking me up at 5am. I probably won't see you again," she said softly.

"Then goodnight and farewell and bon voyage and so on …" he joked.

"Au revoir, papa," she joked back.

He hugged her again tightly before she left to go back upstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks so much for the reviews and the willingness to stick with me on this journey. Like I said, I knew this issue would be difficult to explore, but I am glad there are others out there who see the need for Castle to stop being so understanding and really confront Beckett on her lies. Now, let's see how Kate has been dealing with things. And keep up with the reviews. They really help! (-:

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

Kate scanned the precinct, studying all of the witnesses brought in for their latest case involving a prominent journalist who had been killed in a parking garage after a holiday party. Most of them had been there all night and were hung over, looking every bit as haggard as she felt. She hoped they could wrap this up soon, at least the statement part. She desperately wanted to go home and be alone.

After leaving Castle's, she had headed straight back to the station and, aside from a couple of naps in the break room and some crap from the snack machine, she hadn't really eaten or slept since Christmas Eve, and now it was 4am the morning of the 26th. Gates and the boys had kind of looked at her funny a couple of times, but hadn't said anything. At least she had had a change of clothes in her locker and a toothbrush.

"What the hell is up with Beckett?" Esposito asked Ryan, leaning over so his voice wouldn't carry. "Karpowski said Kate came back to the precinct only a few hours after leaving and I don't think she's left the building since."

Ryan glanced over at her thoughtfully. "They must have gotten into a fight. Karpowski told me that Beckett looked really happy when she left that night and that"—he nodded his head in Beckett's direction—"does not look like a happy person."

"Hell, they fight all the time. What could be so bad? It's Christmas—their first one as a couple. I thought we wouldn't see her for a week," Javier said, shaking his head.

"It may have something to do with the fact that Beckett's mom was killed right after Christmas. She's worked that shift since she was a rookie, so she hasn't really celebrated Christmas in years. It's gotta be kind of weird."

"Weird?" Javier huffed. "Bro, with Castle's dough, she was probably surrounded by presents and luxuries. What more can you ask for?"

"Um, no," Ryan said, taking a sip of his coffee. "They said no presents this year."

"What? No presents? What kind of Christmas is that? Why wouldn't they do presents?"

"They?" Ryan replied. "Come on, you know that wasn't Castle's idea. I bet he had to return a bunch of stuff. My guess is it's her—sounds like something she would do."

"Man, Beckett's a regular old Grinch. I'm going to see what's up with this. They should be happy on Christmas," he said, suddenly standing up and walking toward Beckett's desk.

"Javi, don't!" Ryan called out before reluctantly following him.

"Yo, Beckett, what's up? I told you we got this. When are you going to go home?"

"As soon as we clear these witnesses out. I don't want to miss anything."

"Me and Kev got that covered. Seriously, I'm sure Castle wouldn't mind an early morning surprise," he suggested, flashing his trademark mischievous smile.

"Jesus, Javi," Ryan muttered under his breath.

Beckett glared up at Esposito. "I've got work to do, Espo. Anything I can do for you that's case-related?"

"You don't look so good, Beckett," he tried, taking a different approach. "Everything okay with you and Castle?"

"Everything's fine," she answered, looking away and shuffling some papers on her desk.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," she snapped.

Ryan and Esposito looked at each other, surprised at her tone. These last few months, Beckett had been absolutely glowing at work and very happy. She hadn't been standoffish or grumpy in months.

"We just want to help," Ryan offered.

"Just back off!" she demanded, pushing away from her desk and standing up quickly. "Both of you. Just back off!"

She quickly walked toward the ladies room and by the time she hit the door, she was practically running. She burst inside, praying no one was in there, and went into the first open stall she saw. The tears were pouring down her face before she even sat down. She was not a quiet crier, so the effort to keep herself from making noise was so great, she had to brace herself against the sides of the stall.

This was about the fifth time she had done this—come running into the bathroom, bawling her eyes out. Thank God there were so few women on this floor—she hadn't run into anyone and the way she was crying, no one would believe a story of allergies or some other lame excuse.

When she had calmed down a bit, she brought her hands to her face and covered it, trying to wipe away tears that were only replaced with fresh ones a moment later. She grabbed some toilet paper and blew her nose, trying to stop herself from getting too carried away.

She wanted to go home. She did. But she was scared to leave because once she got home, there wouldn't be a reason to hide her tears and ignore all of the feelings that were festering inside her. But she was losing her hold—with no real sleep or food, she was going to have a breakdown and she couldn't do it at work. No, she had to leave. Whatever happened once she got home, she had to face it.

Steeling herself, she wiped away the last of her tears and headed back to her desk. She grabbed her things, put on her coat and sunglasses, and walked by Gates' office with a quick "I'll be back later" before she headed to the elevator. She didn't look back at the boys.

Once on the sidewalk, she debated about whether to take the subway or a cab, but when a cab drove by, she waved it down quickly and got inside. She gave the cabbie her address and sat stock-still in the back seat, forcing herself to think about the case so she wouldn't freak out in the back of this guy's cab.

When they got to her apartment, she shoved a $20 into his hand and ran to the door of her building. When she stepped inside her door, she paused, suddenly feeling confident that she could weather this, that she could get through this—that she could live a life without Castle.

But a split second later, she was sliding to the floor, ending up in a heap with her back against the door and the feeling of not knowing what the hell she was going to do next. She felt paralyzed, almost like she couldn't breathe. It was like she was feeling everything she should have let herself feel over the past 30 hours in this one instant.

What had she done? Seriously. How had she fucked that up so badly? How had she not already gone over to his place and gotten on her knees to beg his forgiveness?

That person she had been over there, the person who couldn't say "I love you" to the one person she loved more than any other, that person was not her. That had been young, scared Kate, not the Kate she was now, the one who was with Castle and happier than she ever thought possible.

She knew this was all her fault. She should have never lied about the shift. She should have told him she loved him. Hell, she should have told him that she felt the same when she first saw him after the shooting. She _did_ lie a lot, but she had never considered herself a liar. The opposite, in fact. She was a cop—cops don't lie.

There were a million ways she could have stopped that argument before it had spun out of control and ended with her practically fleeing his loft like a thief interrupted.

What would Dr. Burke say? He would ask if she loved Castle. And if so, then why couldn't she say it?

No—wouldn't. Why _wouldn't_ she say it?

Why then? Was she scared of losing him? Not really. Was she not ready emotionally? She didn't think so—after all, she had enjoyed these last few months and felt that his presence in her life was a balm and she had been a damn fool to wait so long.

The sex between them was incredible, beyond incredible even. She hadn't even really known that sex could be that good until she had been with Castle. And even though they fought—they always would, it was part of who they were—she was sure they had worked through the problems together, equally, really coming to a place where she felt truly loved by and safe with him.

No, she was ready emotionally. She had no doubt of his intentions toward her. They had already hit some major speed bumps during the course of their relationship and had navigated them smoothly. They were partners and best friends. They were perfect together and she had been so happy lately. Why the hell had she acted like that then?

Happiness—was it even possible? She had never sought happiness in her entire life, and the possibility of reaching that state had pretty much died when her mom had.

But happiness sometimes made her feel uncomfortable—it had certainly felt foreign to her at first. Lanie had to point out all the signs of happiness before Kate was truly convinced she actually was, in fact, happy. And then it had scared her—what if it went away? What if it stopped? Was it worth feeling if it would only end up fleeting?

But ever since the incident with 3XK, she had let go of her fear of losing him. She had come so close to losing him and once they had finally cleared him, she knew she would always fight for him, to keep him close. Whether that meant hunting down a serial killer or visiting him in prison, no matter what happened, she would never lose him.

What was it then? Why had she acted like that? And on Christmas—his most favorite time of the year? She had ruined their first Christmas together, ruined it by not letting him get her a present, by volunteering for that damn shift, by lying, by not saying the words to him when he had needed them the most.

She didn't know what was wrong with her. She hadn't a clue. She just felt that deep inside, with his great capacity to love, that she was too small and screwed up to fill that space, to return that affection and enthusiasm. She held him back, held him in. If he was a beautiful painting, she was the rigid, wooden frame around him.

Didn't he deserve someone … different? Someone with a zest for life? Someone who didn't see a psychiatrist? Someone who could be spontaneous, loving, open—free? She dimmed his light and that seemed a terrible thing.

He wasn't perfect. She knew that. But she knew that man could really love someone. That he could give himself fully, without any doubt or hesitation. The way he loved her—all she did was hold him up, slow him down, squelch his crazy but wonderful-sounding ideas, and stop him from loving her the way he wanted to.

She thought back to that moment when they had been under the mistletoe at the precinct, before he had gotten on the elevator. Of course they had both wanted to kiss each other, but Castle had really been about to do it. And it would have been harmless and incredibly romantic, and probably no one would have even seen them, but Kate had moved away from him. It was slight, but he had picked up on it and backed off.

That's what she hated the most. All the times he reached out to her and she shut him down. All the times he came to her with an open heart and ended up retreating like a scolded child. It had been going on since nearly the beginning of their partnership. Sure, she struck down his asinine conspiracy theories about the CIA, aliens, or the mob being behind nearly every murder in the city, but that was fun, playful. Because his theories made her laugh. It made things okay.

But whenever he had reached out to her with an emotion or something serious to say to her, she had shut him down hard and he had backed off. She felt like he was always backing off. And it was her fault, not his. He was being loving and perfectly normal—she was the one who always threw the blanket on the fire.

How could she stop this? And what did her actions the other night really mean? Were they through? Was he waiting for her to call him? Would he call her? Could this be fixed? Was it over?

She had no idea and that feeling was suddenly and completely unbearable. She could be in his arms in just a short cab ride, so why wasn't she in that cab?

He just deserves more, she thought, the tears starting to ramp up again. She was a mess and she loved him too much to drag him down.

She finally got up and winced at the painful streaks of electricity running through her body from being in the same position too long. She shed her coat, her sweater, her jeans and bra and grabbed a t-shirt from her drawer, tugged it on, and then got into bed.

Maybe things would look better in the morning. Isn't that what people always said? That she'll see things in a new light, a better light? She was a wreck right now, even worse than usual. Maybe some sleep and some hot food would help her find the way to be the person she felt he deserved.

But she couldn't shake the feeling that was cutting its way through her gut—that she would never change and the best thing would be to cut things off completely so he could move on with someone else. It seemed like the honorable thing to do, the _right_ thing to do.

And then the tears came again and for the first time in a very long time, she cried herself to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, this is going to be rough, but I am warning you now so you will be prepared. Castle is going to do something pretty unsettling, but considering his past and his personality, I really think he would respond this way. Things start getting better right after this, so please stay with me. I will update soon so you aren't left hanging for too long. And remember, they will be together in the end! Thanks! (-:

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

Four days later, and Castle was still in a funk, still in a haze of drinking, crying, writing, and feeling sorry for himself. He had showered for the first time only this morning and had finally managed to go and retrieve the paper. But every time he felt close to being normal, the brief moment would pass and he'd be in tears again. And so he spent most of the time in front of the TV watching other people be happy or playing video games, picking at the leftovers in the fridge, eating only enough to get by.

Now he was sitting at his desk, the new Nikki Heat book nearly done except for the ending. He knew Alexis was right—there was no way he should be working on this with how things were between him and Beckett right now. But Gina had been calling twice a day, threatening to come over and pry the damn thing out of his hands if she had to.

It was the 30th now. He had to get something down. It was just a first draft—he could always revise it later - and the rest of the book was good, better even than _Frozen Heat_, he thought, and he thought that had been the best so far. The Heat books always somewhat loosely mirrored the situations he and Beckett were going through in real life and this book had been no different. But still afraid to tackle the ending, he had mostly been reading and rereading what he had already written.

In this book, he had decided to focus on a police investigation instead of solving Cynthia Heat's murder. He had added more sessions with Dr. King, the fictional counterpart to Dr. Burke, where Nikki talked about her protective wall and inability to trust. He had dropped in more hints about the markings in the Mozart piano book and sent Nikki and Rook to a code breaker who was murdered shortly after they left. He had introduced a solid lead concerning Tyler Wynn that had ultimately unraveled.

But choosing to reflect reality instead of fantasy, he let the dead ends drop and pass, similar to what had transpired after Maddox had been killed. Both Heat and Beckett knew the men behind their mothers' murders, but had to live with the knowledge that Wynn and Bracken were walking around in the world, their power a cloak of protection.

It just didn't feel right to wrap up Cynthia Heat's murder when Kate had still not obtained full closure from her mother's death. At first he had thought that Kate might have liked at least having one of the cases solved, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought he would upset her.

As far as Rook and Nikki's relationship had evolved over the course of the book, he had kept it reserved and cautious, but light and hopeful. Like Beckett's, Nikki's walls had continued to frustrated Rook, but Castle had made Rook as patient and as understanding as he believed himself to be, hoping that when Beckett read it, she would see how hard he had tried to be there for her, even when she was pushing him away. He had also tossed in a meaty and quirky sex scene at the police precinct, mostly because he thought the fans would love it, but also as a nod to a fantasy he had been having about Beckett since day one.

When he had chosen the investigation that would take up a big chunk of the book, he had wanted to stay away from the sensationalist angle or the government conspiracy angle and had instead focused on something that had been bothering him over the past year or so.

More and more lately, Castle had been hearing stories of sports referees either being attacked or even killed by players, fans, coaches, or parents. He remembered when Alexis had played soccer when she was about ten years old; there had been this one parent who had been thrown out of at least two or three games for yelling at the referee. It didn't matter how trivial the issue was, or how trifling the foul, that guy had yelled at the referee with such pure vitriol and foul language, you would have thought the referee was ruining his kid's chances of winning the World Cup.

One game, the guy had actually walked onto the field toward the referee, and with his finger pointed straight at the referee's face, had harangued him about a foul called against his daughter. Everyone had stood there in shock, Castle included, while the guy told the referee he was the worst he had ever seen, that he didn't know anything, that the kids were being cheated, that he should never referee another game in his life. When it looked like the guy was about to get physical with him, the referee had blown his whistle, called the game a forfeit, and had gotten the hell out of there.

At the time, Castle could not understand how this man could get so worked up and become so aggressive and violent at a game with ten-year-olds. They could barely kick the ball straight at that age and Castle simply could not comprehend how this insignificant, tiny moment in his child's life could be a launching pad for his vicious tirade.

He remembered looking at all the little girls' faces, including Alexis's, and how scared they had looked. He remembered how embarrassed his daughter, Laura, a friend of Alexis's, had been, so much so that she had stopped playing that year. And when Castle refused to let Alexis play with Laura anymore, Alexis had simply nodded, even at that young age wise enough to understand why.

When he had read the latest story about a parent who had volunteered to be the referee to help his kid's team out being beaten to death after a match in the Netherlands, he had made up his mind then and there to write about the subject.

The case concerned the murder of a referee after a men's showcase tournament right before the draft to Major League Soccer. In the book, the referee gives out red cards to two star players, who are ejected from the game for fighting. The two players had a history of bad blood between them, always on opposing teams since childhood, as they fought their way to the top. Even their families had feuded, spurred on by the boys having to share the title of Collegiate Player of the Year and the numerous times their sons had been ejected and suspended from games for fighting. A friendly rivalry it was not, and even though they both most likely would have been drafted to top teams, it wasn't good enough unless one beat the other.

After the boys are ejected, the heavily favored team loses after a last-minute penalty the referee awards to the underdogs that they convert into a goal. Later that night, at the awards banquet, the referee is found stabbed to death in a hotel hallway.

The suspect pool is large—was it one of the two players who were red-carded, all but crushing their dreams of going pro? Was it one of the two players' parents? Was it a member of the losing team who was angry about losing? Was it a crazed fan? And then, the twist—one of the red-carded players is found stabbed to death in his hotel room, which casts a whole new light on the incident. Now, the other boy in the ongoing rivalry looks even guiltier since his enemy is finally out of his way.

In the end, it's revealed that the fiancé of the murdered player was responsible for both murders. She was angry that the referee had ruined, in her mind, _her _dream, which was to become the wife of a famous soccer player, when he had handed out that red card. She later revealed that she had killed her husband-to-be after he confessed that he was burnt out with soccer and wanted to join the Peace Corps. He wanted to break off the engagement, and the thought of her dream being taken from her, after all the years of supporting her fiancé, going to all of the games, putting up with his grumpiness when he was injured, practically spending her entire college career helping him achieve his dream—it had simply been too much.

The story was a commentary on just how far people will go when someone takes their dream away from them. It was a condemnation of the senseless and incomprehensible anger people can feel while watching sports, and how quickly a game can turn into a nightmare. And while working on the book, he had heard of a football referee being attacked by fans and players after a game and another soccer referee getting death threats to himself and his family after having a bad day on the field. It just made him write with more passion and a sense of duty to shed light on an important topic.

Now, here he was at the end of the book, with the investigation wrapped up and Cynthia Heat's murder case on the back burner. Now he needed Heat and Rook to take the next step, whatever that was. He had gotten some flack for his entirely unromantic cliffhanger in _Frozen Heat_, and had decided to give the fans what they really wanted—for Nikki and Rook to declare their love for each other and start a life together. Of course, he had decided on this ending before what had happened on Christmas Eve.

Sighing, he scrolled to the bottom of the manuscript where he had typed "Chapter Twenty-Two." When he had last left them, Rook had been offered a place on a nine-man expedition to the North Pole that was investigating the truth behind the melting of the polar ice caps. He had been promised a real look, unfiltered by the media, untainted by both skeptics and environmentalists alike. Plus, he had been promised polar bears, something he was having a hard time resisting.

In Castle's mind, Heat was going to encourage Rook to go, even though it meant being apart for nearly six months. She thought it was an amazing opportunity that he couldn't pass up and she couldn't stand in his way. Of course, Rook was tempted—see: said polar bears—but deep down, he really wanted Nikki to stop him from going, to tell him that she loved him and that she wanted to be together, for real.

Jesus, he thought to himself, life imitating art much?

In the last part he had written, Rook and Heat had been standing in Heat's apartment, his bags by the door, his flight only two hours away. They were looking into each other's eyes—one praying the other would stay, one praying the other would ask him to, but both saying nothing.

It was in this moment that the walls were going to finally come down and they were going to confess their love for each other and then basically make mad, passionate love to each other until THE END. But when Castle's fingertips began to hit the keys, and the alcohol further clouded his brain, something very, very different came out …

* * *

_"So, I guess this is it," Rook said, trying to keep his voice light._

_"Promise me you will be safe. No stupid risks, okay?" Heat told him, pressing her hands lightly against his chest._

_"I promise. And you promise me that you'll take care of yourself. That you won't go running off into the dark alone, trying to take down Tyler Wynn."_

_"I promise," she smiled, smoothing his shirt out._

_"You'll be here when I get back then?" Rook asked, his voice quivering a little. He faked a cough to cover it up._

_"Where else would I go? Just come back safe. I'll be waiting," she told him, pulling him in for a hug._

_They held each other for a few moments. Finally, Nikki pulled away._

_"You better get going," she pointed out. "Don't want to miss your flight."_

_Rook nodded and turned away, not wanting Nikki to see the tears in his eyes. He took a few steps toward the door and then suddenly felt very sick to his stomach at the thought of going on this assignment. He stopped about halfway to the door and stood there for a moment, his heart telling him to turn around._

_This was new for Rook—everything about Nikki was new to him. No woman had ever made him think about rejecting an assignment and he had never felt attached to another person in such a profound way. He was wondering, for the first time in his life, if there was something more important to him than the next great story._

_"Is something wrong?" Nikki asked him._

_Rook clenched his fists, considering what to do. He glanced at the door and his bags sitting there, just waiting to be picked up and be on their way to another amazing opportunity to write something that really mattered. But he got that sick feeling again, which didn't go away until he turned back around and looked at Nikki._

_"What if I didn't go?" he said huskily, trying to stem the emotion that seemed to be streaming out of every pore in his body._

_Nikki looked puzzled. She crossed her arms and asked, "What do you mean?"_

_"I mean," he said, clearing his throat, "what if I turned down the assignment?"_

_"Why would you do that?" She sounded baffled._

_Rook took the chance. "To stay here with you."_

_When Nikki laughed, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him so hard, he actually kind of stumbled backward a bit._

_"Why is that funny to you?" he asked._

_"Sorry, it's not funny to me," she sighed. "It's just that I'm not really … ready for something like that."_

_"Not ready?" he managed._

_She sighed again and walked over to him, taking his hands into hers._

_"Look, being with you is amazing. It's like nothing I've ever felt before, and being with you, truly with you, is something I want for the future. But now … I'm just not ready. I was actually looking forward to the next few months so I could be alone and really get my shit together, see Dr. King, deal with my walls and my trust issues, so that when you got back, I might be in a better place."_

_"Can't you do all that with me around?" he asked, starting to get really worried about the direction of this conversation._

_"I'm used to you leaving, Rook. It works for me. I can't figure this out while you're around because I will just want to be with you and not really do the work it's going to take for us to make it as a couple."_

_"What if you meet someone else? Or I do?"_

_"Listen," she said gently, squeezing his hands, "I seriously doubt there are any singles bars at the North Pole."_

_"This isn't the time to joke," he scoffed, taking his hands away from hers. He took a step away from her and turned again to face the door._

_"What can I tell you, Rook? You know how I am, where I am coming from. You knew this wouldn't be easy. Did you really think I was the kind of girl you could just ride off into the sunset with?" she asked bluntly._

_God, this was going all wrong. In a way, she was right. He was probably deluding himself, thinking it could be as simple as revealing feelings to each other and then suddenly becoming a couple. But he hadn't expected this cold reception. He had thought, after all this time, that there was at least enough foundation between them to start something real and lasting._

_Turning around again, he walked right up to her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately. For a moment, she responded, and then she delicately untangled herself from him and moved further away from him. Her back was pressed against the wall and, even though entire oceans had separated them before, he had never felt so much distance between them as he did now._

_"Nikki," he whispered, "I love you. I really love you."_

_It wasn't so much that he expected her to run across the room and fling herself into his arms because of those words, but he expected something more than hearing her sigh, look away, and then look back at him with tears in her eyes. She looked more like she had just received bad news instead of good news—unless this was bad news to her._

_Jesus, he was a fool. He should have known this would happen. He should have walked out that door in the first place and never looked back, just dropped in on her when he was back in town, had some great sex, and then gone back to being together, but not _really_ together, not in a way that was official, or spoken of, or labeled._

_He had tried to hold onto something that was never his in the first place, would never be his, no matter how much he wanted her to be. He was the romantic, the one who believed that love could conquer all, that she would come around, that the walls would eventually come down. She was the complete opposite, a realist, the one who had been betrayed by love, who had never truly trusted anyone but herself, the one who could be with a hundred men and still always be alone._

_"I'm sorry," she whispered, running her shirtsleeve over her eyes to clear the tears away. "I'm really sorry, but I'm not ready … and I don't know when I will be."_

_He weighed his options. He could beg her, convince her she was ready and that he was the one, that he would support her through this process and be patient and not push her. That's what he wanted to do—with everything he was. He did love her and it seemed insane to him to walk away from that._

_But he had already made a fool of himself and rather than embarrass them both, he chose the other option. He walked across the room, picked up his bags, and opened the door. Then he paused, knowing whatever he said to her could be the last thing he ever said to her._

_"I love you, Nikki. No matter what you think, no one is ever really ready for this, but we could have had an amazing time figuring it all out …" he said to her, choking back the tears._

_"Rook—" she started._

_"Goodbye," he told her, stepping into the hallway and letting the door shut behind him._

_She stood there in shock—now suddenly unsure of how she felt and not entirely convinced that she had made the right decision. Maybe he was right. Would she ever be _really_ ready? And if she were one day, would he still be there? Would she ever love someone as much as she loved him? Was she making the biggest mistake of her life?_

_Shaking, she ran to the door and flung it open, looking toward the elevator. When she didn't find him, she ran to her window and saw him on the sidewalk, waving down a cab. She pushed open the window and called out his name—two, three, four times._

_But he never looked up at her. He got into the cab and she watched in horror as it headed down the street and disappeared into traffic. Desperate, she grabbed her phone and called him, but it went straight to voicemail. She hung up._

_What had she done?_

_It was three months later that Rook received the email from Ochoa. He hadn't been sure of their status as a couple, but he had been sure Rook would have wanted to know._

_Nikki had been killed, shot by a scared teenager in an alley who had decided to run away from the police after he had killed another boy over a drug deal. He hadn't been more than fourteen years old and had shot a bullet straight through Nikki's heart, killing her instantly. Ochoa knew Rook was on assignment and couldn't come to the service, but told Rook to check in with him when he got back and he would take him to Nikki's grave._

_Nikki's grave … it was too much to take in. Nikki couldn't be gone—she was too full of life, too strong, too tough to be taken down by a single bullet. It didn't make sense and he had the creeping sensation that things wouldn't make sense for a long, long time now._

_Rook shut his computer and stared through tears straight into the setting sun at the edge of the world, knowing he would spend the rest of his life wondering what could have—no, _what should have_—been._

_The End._

* * *

Castle pulled away from his desk in shock. What had he done? Had he really just killed off Nikki Heat? He ran his hands over his face briskly and stared in revulsion at his computer screen.

He hadn't meant to do this. It had just come out of him. With his and Beckett's story so closely mirroring Rook and Heat's, how could they have a happy ending when he felt like he was dying inside, wondering if he would ever see Beckett again?

No, he convinced himself in his stupor, it had to be like this. If he and Beckett were done, he couldn't write any more Nikki Heat books anyway. It would be too painful—it would feel like a lie.

Before he could change his mind, he typed in the title, _Dead Heat_, and brought up his email. He entered Gina's address, attached the file, and pressed "Send," knowing he would have a hell of a time convincing her this was the right thing to do, but not really caring at the moment. Then he got up from his desk, shed his clothes and got into bed, and finally—finally—got a good night's sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

"What the FUCK were you thinking, Richard?" Gina screamed into the phone.

Castle sighed and rubbed his eyes. It was 6am, far too early for someone to be screaming at him.

"Gina …" he started.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind? These books are making you millions and you go and kill off Nikki? Are you high? Insane? Please tell me, Richard, because you are really freaking me out!"

"It's 6am, Gina, and I'm hung over. Can we talk about this later?" he yawned.

"If you don't start talking, I am coming over there, which significantly increases the risk of physical harm to you. Now, talk!"

He groaned, not sure where to start and how to convince her that this was the right thing to do.

"It's just where the story went—" he began.

"It's because of her, isn't it? What the fuck did she do to you, Richard? Run over your puppy? Is this revenge for something? Because one minute everything is great, and the next, Nikki freaking Heat is dead in an alley."

He cringed at the mention of the alley. Had he really written that? He shouldn't have. That was taking it too far, no matter how hurt he was. He would take that out, put them in an abandoned building or something.

"Richard!" she yelled, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Fine, we broke up, Gina. She doesn't love me and it's not going to change and there is no way in hell Rook and Heat are going to be together when Beckett and I are not. No way," he said angrily.

"Oh boo hoo hoo. She doesn't love you? First of all, that's pure horseshit. Secondly, I don't care what she did to you; you are not going to kill off the lead character in your best-selling series. You are not going to pull that Derek Storm shit on me again. Do you hear me, Richard? That was a nightmare, one I don't care to have again. You were lucky to have found your next muse so fast, but there are no guarantees that will happen again."

"I don't care about that, Gina. This is how it's ending and that's final," he told her through clenched teeth.

"We won't publish it. I won't let it happen. I can delete this and just wait for you to come to your senses, even though it will screw with our whole timeline. Do you hear me? I am NOT publishing this!"

"Do you hear _me_? I don't care, Gina! I don't care what you do. I don't care about anything right now. I just want to be left alone," he insisted.

"You want to be left alone, fine. I'll take care of this …"

"Gina …" he started.

"Call me when you're done with your pity party, Richard, and for God's sake, pull yourself together!" she ordered him before hanging up.

Defeated and with fresh tears in his eyes, he put his phone down, pulled the covers over his head, and went back to sleep.

* * *

It was 8am and she had been sitting on a stool at her kitchen table for nearly 45 minutes, staring at the books on white brick stairs, wondering how in the world she was going to keep herself busy for two days—New Year's Eve and Day, not to mention. Gates had insisted on the time off and threatened suspension if she did come into work, telling her bluntly that she needed some time off to sort things out.

But as much as she wanted to go in to work, she did need a break, if only to save herself from further embarrassment. She had continued her cold attitude toward the boys because she knew if they were nice to her, she would only break down and cry. They only spoke to her when necessary, called her "Detective Beckett," and only spoke about work. It was awkward and tough on all of them.

She had fought so hard to keep it together at work, but without sleep and proper food, she was starting to show cracks in her veneer. She was listless and couldn't concentrate, forgetting to file routine paperwork and losing her train of thought when interviewing witnesses. She had spent their mandatory Friday morning meeting crying in the bathroom—again—and had begun to wear heavy makeup to cover her puffy, tired eyes.

Though she didn't want to admit it to herself, and was fighting it with all she had, she was seriously losing it. She hadn't felt this sad and upset since her mother had died all those years ago, and the pain was killing her. Trying to work nearly 24 hours a day was obviously not the best solution, especially when she told Gates to go to hell after they disagreed on how to conduct the latest investigation, which led to her forced "vacation."

She had tried to make an appointment with Dr. Burke, but he was on vacation, and she was not about to open up to the shrink assigned to cover for him. So now she had two days to spend trying to resist every urge she had to go to him.

She had never been so angry with herself—for doing what she did on Christmas Eve and for not trying to make it right every day since. She had been drinking at night, sometimes almost an entire bottle of wine, just so she wouldn't have to keep replaying that night over and over again, cursing herself for not telling him the truth—that she did love him, so much. She loved him so much.

She wasn't a fool—she knew if she was feeling this bad, that he must have been feeling worse, and that made her even more upset. But she was scared, most of all that she had been right, that she wasn't ready for this, that he did deserve someone better.

And that's why she wouldn't go to him, no matter how much she wanted to. Even though she could barely breathe without him and her life seemed as dismal and grey as the winter itself, she thought he deserved someone better and her conviction was what kept her away. She would only hurt him over and over again.

A knock on the door disrupted her reverie. Sighing, she gathered herself and padded over to the door. She opened it to find a courier standing there with a large manila envelope in his hand.

"This is for you, Detective Beckett," he said politely. He handed it over and then left.

Puzzled, she took the envelope back into her kitchen, but before she could sit down to open it, the phone rang. She reached for it and said hello.

"Detective Beckett?" a female voice said loudly and kind of rudely.

"Um … yeah," she answered, wondering who the hell this was.

"This is Gina, Richard Castle's publisher."

She groaned a little inside. Why would Gina be calling her? This couldn't be good.

"Hi, Gina. What can I do for you?"

"Here's what you can do for me, Detective. You can open the envelope that was just delivered to you."

"How did you know—?" Kate wondered aloud.

"Because I sent it, that's how. Now, open it."

Like most people did, Kate followed her order and tore the top off the envelope and pulled out the thick binder inside.

"What is this?" Kate asked.

"Open the cover," Gina snapped.

So Kate did and what she saw was shocking and confusing at the same time.

"_Dead Heat_?" she whispered. "What is this?"

"It's Richard's latest book in the Nikki Heat series, Detective, you know, the one he based on you? Apparently he finished it last night and couldn't wait to send it on over here at 3am."

"Is it good?" Kate asked, immediately regretting it. In a way, she was happy to receive the unpublished manuscript. She had always wanted to read a first draft. But the way Gina was acting, she was starting to get a weird feeling.

"Hmmm … good? Most of it is spectacular, the best work he's ever done."

"Okay, did he want me to read it?" Kate asked, starting to flip through it.

"No, Detective,_ I _want you to read it," she said harshly. "I want you to read it and then tell me what the hell you did to him that would make Richard end the book how he did."

"Excuse me?" Kate said, really starting to get irritated with her tone.

"You heard me. You fucked him up, Detective. I don't know what you did to him, but he has seriously lost his damn mind."

"What did he tell you?" Kate demanded, surprised that he would talk to Gina about something as personal as this.

"Nothing. He didn't have to tell me. He just sent me this book and I figured it all out myself," Gina said sarcastically.

"What do you want me to do, Gina?" she asked, tiring of this conversation.

"I want you to cancel your plans for today and read this entire book in one sitting. And don't skip to the end. I want you to enjoy every moment of it and then I want you to get your skinny little ass over there and fix this."

"Fix what?"

"Oh, you'll see. I hope you're happy with yourself, Detective Beckett. I hope this is what you wanted," Gina spat at her before hanging up.

Shocked, Kate put her phone down and set the manuscript on the table.

She grabbed her coffee mug and poured out the cold contents into the sink and refilled it with fresh, hot coffee. She popped some toast into the toaster, waited for it, and then slathered some peanut butter on it. Then she put the manuscript under her arm, grabbed the coffee and the toast, and went back to her bedroom. She sat up in bed, covered herself with the comforter, and turned the page … _Chapter 1_.

For the remainder of the day, Kate stayed in bed and read the book, only getting up to go to the bathroom and to get more food. The whole time she was reading, she wondered what had gotten Gina so upset. The book was amazing—it was fun and smart, thoughtful and insightful. The investigation he had picked was riveting and the sex scene in the precinct had made her laugh and blush. The book was simply wonderful—she had no idea why Gina was so bent out of shape.

It was around 7pm and she was about to break for dinner when she got to Chapter Twenty-Two.

When Rook got the offer for the assignment at the North Pole, Kate started to get concerned. Everything had been leading up to them finally getting together—just like she and Castle had done in real life. Now this North Pole thing was starting to sound bad. Certainly he would end up staying; certainly Nikki would ask him to …

But no, Rook was leaving, and suddenly Kate was seeing their entire Christmas Eve fight playing out on the pages of the book. Having her own words throw back in her face was painful enough, but when she read the parts from Rook's point of view, she wanted to die.

This Nikki wasn't her—was it? Had she really come across like that? So cold and uncaring? But the more she read, the more she realized that she had, that she had acted exactly like Nikki had behaved in the book.

And when he left and Nikki ran to the window just to see him get in the cab … she felt the horror and the regret every bit as much as Nikki felt it, that sense of "What have I done?" That sense that nothing would ever be okay again.

And then she got to the last page and her hands started to shake. She read the final page wild-eyed and holding her breath. No. No way he would do that.

Kate lunged off her bed and scrambled into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before throwing up violently. She vomited until there was nothing left, until she was dry heaving and crying and throwing anything she could get her hands on—toothpaste, hand soap, her toothbrush—against the opposite wall.

She collapsed on the floor and curled into a ball, so upset she wanted to scream.

He had killed her—them—Nikki in the book, but also her, their relationship, their future. Nikki had made one decision—not to ask Rook to stay—and now she was dead, bleeding in an alley, killed instantly. One decision and everything was ruined.

She was so mad at him for writing this, she wanted to punch him in the face. How could he do this? Was he really that angry? Was this thing between them so irreconcilable? When she had left, she never thought for a moment that they wouldn't see each other again. She thought they were just taking some time to figure things out.

But as quickly as it came, the anger she felt for him left and was replaced with the truth of what had really happened that night. Finally seeing his point of view, it probably did look like the end for them. She wouldn't tell him she loved him—she had told him to find someone else. She had put him through so much with the lies and the walls and the withholding of herself—of course it made sense that he would think it was over.

And then it hit her. He wasn't going to come around again. He wasn't going to bring her coffee, smile his lopsided grin, and carry on like nothing had happened. He wasn't going to call her or come over. He wasn't going to ride with her again or invite her over for dinner. He wasn't going to kiss her again and make love to her until they could barely move. He wasn't going to do anything with her again. It was over and it was all her fault.

And that's how things had always been—whenever they had fought, he had always made the first move, he had always forgiven her. He had always brought her coffee or given her space or gone home alone. Whatever she had needed, he had given her, and so had solved all of the problems they had encountered over the years. He fixed things and now he was done.

Had she ever reached out to him after an argument?

And then it all came flooding in—the night she had gone to his apartment after the fight with Maddox, her apology, their devastating kiss, her back against the door, their hands on each other's bodies, and everything that had come after.

The one time she had reached out to him had turned out to be the best night of her life. The solution was clear. This was hers to fix, just like that first night. He was done and she couldn't blame him one bit. It was time to tell him how she felt. She couldn't let him go another minute letting him think that she didn't love him.

"I love you, Rick," she whispered, knowing with all her heart that those words were true.

She jumped up and immediately brushed her teeth and washed her face. Throwing on some light makeup, she ran her hands through her hair before deciding on a ponytail. Then she ran out of the bathroom and over to her closet. She threw on some clothes, some boots, and then left the bedroom.

She grabbed her coat and scarf from the rack and then ran back into the bedroom to get the manuscript. Running now, she grabbed her keys and her phone, nearly tearing the front door off its hinges opening it, and ran down the hall to the stairs. She quickly hailed a cab, gave the driver the address, and waited anxiously as he sped toward the loft.

Nikki was coming back from the dead.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

When she finally reached his door, she pounded on it so hard she was afraid he might think there was an emergency—but hell, it was an emergency, at least to her.

After pounding some more and then calling his name, she started to cry.

"Castle, please open up. I have to talk to you! Please!" she begged through the door.

She finally stopped pleading with him when a neighbor poked her head through her door and told her to be quiet. Defeated, she sat down on the floor, her back against the door, her head in her hands, not knowing what to think.

Was he home and just ignoring her? Was he out? Where would he be? She wracked her brain for possibilities. The Old Haunt? Probably not—too public and she knew Castle would want to be alone right now. At a party? She supposed that was possible, that maybe Gina had forcibly dragged him from the loft just so he wouldn't be alone on New Year's Eve.

God, where was he? Surely, after all they had been through, he wouldn't ignore her like this. He would at least hear her out, right?

But maybe she really had gone too far this time. Maybe sorry and "I love you" wouldn't make up for the damage she had caused. Only a sad, angry person would end the book the way he did. It had finality to it—what could be more final than death? If he could kill Nikki, maybe she was truly and honestly dead to him now.

This brought on a fresh helping of tears and she stood back up, determined to get him to come to the door. He had to be in there. She knew him—he locked down when he was upset—he was not good at faking being happy. He couldn't reel in his emotions and put them in a box. He wasn't her.

She glanced down at the neighbor's door again, wondering if she should risk it, when she happened to look past the door, all the way to the "Exit" door at the end of the hallway. Suddenly, a conversation between them popped into her head, a conversation they had had long ago, when he was still trying to impress her and she was still trying not to be impressed.

He had talked about a New Year's Eve party he had thrown in the garden, on the roof of his building. He had told her that the fireworks looked spectacular from that vantage point. He had also mentioned a few times over the course of their relationship that when he was blocked and stuck on something in his writing, he would go up there to think.

Was it possible he was standing right above her?

Without another thought, she sprinted to the end of the hall, swung the door open, and bounded up the stairs. Breathless, she scanned the entire roof, feeling shaky and sick to her stomach.

He wasn't there.

And she had been so sure—so hopeful.

"God damnit!" she cursed loudly, wiping away her tears. "Shit!" she added.

She turned to open the door to go back down the stairs when she heard it.

"Kate?"

She whipped her head around to find the source of the noise and saw Castle rising from a chair he had been sitting on, a chair blocked by one of the plants.

Nearly out of her mind with emotion, she marched right up to him and hit him hard in the chest with the manuscript.

"What the hell?" he demanded.

"Yeah, what the hell?" she demanded back.

Castle took the manuscript from her hand, scanned a few pages, and then looked at her with fresh anger.

"How did you get this?" he asked, curling it up in his hand.

"From Gina. She had it sent to my place this morning, said I better read it, so I did," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Oh, Kate," he sighed, setting the manuscript down on a flower box.

"You killed me, Castle. You killed me!" she cried out at him.

"No, I killed Nikki. There's a difference," he said calmly.

"No, there's not," she countered.

"It's just a book …"

"No, it's not!" she told him. "It's us. It's what happened. It's all there. Everything I did to you, everything I said. How horrible I was to you. It's not just a book."

"Fine, you're right. It's all there. Nikki is dead and I'm done—with Nikki Heat, with the series, with the lying, with being in love with someone who doesn't love me back. I'm done with—"

"Me. You're done with me," she finished for him.

He paused for a moment before he answered quietly, "Yes, with you."

"I don't want that, Castle, please …"

"That's exactly what you want and this time I am calling your bluff. You got what you wanted, Kate—I won't be bothering you anymore. I won't be pushing you out of your comfort zone anymore. I'm done trying to break down those walls and I am sick to death of being lied to. I'm done!"

With that, he turned away from her and stalked over to the edge of the building. Standing tall with his back to her, he crossed his arms and stared out into the city.

She was frozen in place, watching him, wondering if she really should leave him alone. Maybe he was done. Maybe he didn't love her anymore.

But then she saw his shoulders shake and his head drop down and his pain shot through her like electricity. She steeled herself and walked over to him.

"I need to tell you something," she insisted.

"You need to leave," he said, his voice cracking.

"Not before I tell you this. Please, just let me …"

"I don't want to hear it," he interrupted. "I just want you to leave."

"Castle," she started.

"I mean it," he warned.

"Castle, please!" she pleaded with him.

"Damnit, Kate," he said, spinning around to face her. "I—"

"I love you," she confessed, falling forward into his chest. He instinctively grabbed her upper arms to steady her.

"I love you, Rick," she repeated.

"Don't do this," he whispered, shaking his head.

"I love you. So much. Like I have never loved anyone before. I'm sorry I couldn't say it, but I have always felt it."

"Stop, Kate, just stop …"

"I love your face and your hands and your stupid jokes. I love your smile and your enthusiasm for life. I love how you make me feel, how you touch me and kiss me, and how your skin feels against mine. I love your daughter and your mother and your loft and your ridiculous Ferrari. I love your books and your mind.

"I love everything about you, even when you annoy the hell out of me, even when you push me and make me face things I don't want to face. I love how patient you have been with me, how loving and caring and generous you are. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you because being apart from you for the past week nearly killed me."

"Kate," he whispered, gently pulling her into his arms.

"I'm sorry, Rick. I'm sorry I ruined Christmas by lying to you and insisting we not exchange gifts. I'm sorry for lying to you after I recovered. I am sorry for every time you went home hurting because I was too blind to see that you were the one all along."

She pulled back from him to look him in the eye.

"I love you. And I mean it. No more hiding. No more lying. This is it, Rick. We're doing this … for real. My walls are gone. I just want to be with you."

He stared back at her and ran his thumb over her cheek, clearing away the tears. He didn't say anything.

"Say something," she whimpered.

The look he gave her then was unmistakable. He was transformed. He believed her.

"I love you, Kate. I always will … always," he told her and she nearly giggled with relief.

The laughter in her died instantly when he pulled her into his arms and started kissing her. The feel of his lips on hers was so welcome, and so overwhelming, her knees nearly buckled. He caught her and backed her up slowly until the backs of her thighs hit a long, wooden picnic table.

She yelped when he lifted her up onto the table and moaned out loud when he pressed her back down onto the wood. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he bent over, still kissing her, his body now covering hers, his hands roaming all over her chest and sides.

She reached up, pushed his coat aside, and ripped his button-down wide open. When her hands touched his bare skin, he jumped at the coldness, but immediately recovered and pushed aside her coat as well, giving her shirt the same treatment, until his hands were under her bra and his fingers were tugging at her nipples.

"Fuck," she whispered, her hands finding his belt buckle.

"Kate," he started.

"I can't wait. Please, Rick, please …"

He grunted when he took a step back. The sudden absence of him made her cry out. But then he was tugging one of her boots off, and unzipping her jeans, pulling her long legs out of the pants and her underwear.

He immediately came over her again and she went to work on his pants, unbuckling his belt, undoing the buttons on his jeans, finding him with her hand.

"Shit, that's cold!" he laughed as a chill went through his body.

She was smiling when he entered her, hard and swift. She wrapped herself around him and pulled him closer, thrilled when he scooted her closer to the edge of the table and quickened his pace. He didn't stop until they were both out of breath and hoarse and exhausted.

He lifted himself onto one arm and stared at her lovingly while touching her face.

"I'll write a new ending," he told her. "The one I really wanted to write, where Nikki and Rook are finally together, really together."

"Like us," she agreed. "Finally together, really together."

"I'm sorry you had to read that. I never imagined that Gina would—"

"I'm glad I read it," she said, shaking her head. "It woke me up, Castle. Made me realize what I would miss out on. Seeing things from your point of view … it changed me." And then she paused and he looked at her, waiting.

"But you will rewrite it because Nikki is very much alive."

With that, she gave him the most amazing sultry look, lifted her hips, and rose up to meet him. She wrapped her legs around the backs of his and pulled him toward her, starting to move slowly.

"Whoa whoa whoa, Kate!" he said, stilling her movement.

"What's wrong?" she asked, looking worried.

"Nothing's wrong, it's just that it's … so cold … and, well, sometimes things don't always cooperate when it's 30 degrees outside," he said, trying not to look embarrassed.

"Things seemed to cooperate just fine a minute ago," she said, teasing him and trying to hide her smile.

"Can't we just go inside, please? Maybe take a rain check for the summer?"

"Well ..." she started, wanting to tease him some more.

But then he put his icy hands on her bare stomach and she squealed.

"Fine, Castle, have it your way," she laughed.

They both put themselves back together as quickly as they could and stumbled down the stairs together. After letting themselves into the loft, Castle ordered her to the bedroom and said he'd be right there. Freezing now, she complied.

When he came into the room, still in his jeans and his ripped open button-down, she was naked and under the covers waiting for him. Grinning at her, he set down the bottle of champagne and two glasses on his night stand.

"How long until New Year's?" she asked.

He glanced at the clock. "About twenty minutes."

"Whatever will we do with ourselves?" She grinned wickedly.

"I'm sure we'll come up with something," he said, stripping down and getting into bed with her.

When his frigid body met her warm one, he sighed with delight, while she tried to kick him away. They laughed and wrestled around until they were both warm and content. They were lying on their sides, looking at each other, when he spoke.

"So, I have something for you," he said, softly.

"Something? Like what kind of something?" she hedged.

"A present," he said, quickly bringing up his arms to shield his face in case she wanted to wallop him.

"I thought we said no presents," she reminded him.

"I kept hoping you would change your mind," he replied, lowering his arms.

She thought for a moment before speaking. "I guess I have changed my mind. What is it?"

"Awesome!" he practically yelled. He jumped out of bed, ran to his desk, and returned with a small gift that was beautifully wrapped. She sat up in bed and when he got back in, he handed it to her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"That's why we open presents, Kate. So we know what they are," he said, sarcastically, which did invite a swift punch to the shoulder.

"Fine, I'll open it," she sighed, acting put out when she was secretly delighted.

It was a small box wrapped in gold paper with an elegant white bow on top. She unwrapped the gift quickly to reveal a flat, square jewelry box covered in royal blue velvet.

"These better not be socks," she joked, still nervous about the gift.

"Open it," he smiled at her. The excitement in his eyes—she couldn't believe she had wanted to stifle that. He was practically giddy. She made a decision right then and there not to deny him these small things, especially when it made him so happy.

She kissed him quickly on the cheek, sealing her promise, and then opened the box.

Inside was a beautiful but simple gold bracelet with five gold charms attached to it. They were hearts and each one had a different stone in the middle of it. She was about to ask the significance when he jumped in with an explanation.

"It's our family!" he told her. "Mother's is the amethyst, the purple one. It's mostly associated with royalty, but was believed by the Greeks and Romans to ward off the intoxicating powers of Bacchus. It's kind of ironic."

She laughed as he continued.

"Your dad's is the emerald. It's a sign of rebirth and gives the owner good fortune. Your dad has come a long way and he could use some good fortune, don't you think?" he said seriously.

She nodded, trying to mentally stop the tears coming from her eyes.

"As for Alexis, she is the aquamarine. One, because her birthday is in March, but also because it reminds me of her eyes. She has such beautiful eyes, doesn't she?"

Kate nodded again. "And the other two?"

"Well, I'm the garnet. First, because it's the manliest stone …"

She laughed out loud at that. He mock-frowned at her and continued. "But it also signifies eternal friendship and trust. I wanted you to remember our friendship and partnership when you looked at it and to always remember that you can trust me. Whenever we feel lost, I think we should remember that we started out as friends and that will never change. I will always be here for you, Kate."

The tears were practically blinding her now. God, he was so thoughtful and sweet. She could kick herself for having almost prevented this.

"And the last one?" she managed.

"It's you. The diamond," he told her.

"Why a diamond?"

"Because it's the strongest thing on the planet and I have never met anyone as strong as you, Kate. The word 'diamond' actually means 'unbreakable' in Greek. It's also hard as hell, which to me translated to stubbornness and then it was a no-brainer—"

His words were cut off when she lunged toward him, grabbed him, and started kissing him wildly. The bracelet was all but forgotten for a moment while she tried to express physically what she would never be able to say verbally. After a while, she pulled back and looked at him.

"Does that mean you like it?" he laughed, out of breath.

"God, Castle, I love it. You're amazing. It's so perfect. Put it on me!"

He took the bracelet from the box and attached it around her wrist. She smiled at it and then looked back up at him.

"Our family …" she whispered.

"Yeah, so no more Christmas Eve shifts, okay?" he said, hoping it wasn't too soon to joke about it.

"Never again. I should be with my family on Christmas, don't you think?" she laughed.

"I love you, Kate," he told her, kissing the top of her hand and admiring the bracelet against her beautiful skin.

"I love you, too, Castle," she said, smiling. It came out so easily now. What could she have been thinking?

Outside, the fireworks started and Castle's eyes lit up. He grabbed the champagne, filled the two glasses, and then handed one to her. They paused for moment, taking it all in, before he spoke.

"Happy New Year, Kate."

"Happy New Year, Castle."

Then, they both took a sip.

"Best New Year's ever," he said, smiling at her.

"Best ending ever."

"It's just the beginning, Kate," he leaned forward and whispered into her ear. "It's just the beginning."

* * *

_The End._


End file.
